A Skyrim Oddity: Er, I Mean, Odyssey
by InsecteanSean
Summary: Four ragtag misfits run into each other seemingly by chance as they wander the windswept, war-torn, history-infested province of Skyrim. They become fast friends and embark on a quest to help tame the wild lands, armed with little but their wits and a hodgepodge of skills—a task that they slowly realize is akin to paddling through a storm on the Sea of Ghosts in half a canoe.
1. Rescue

**Author's Note: Hello, dear reader! Wondering what to expect? Here are some facts:**

**Regarding style: This story includes characters heavily based on my real-life friends and me, as if we grew up in the harsh setting of Tamriel. As such, it contains foul language, violence, stupid humor, and inside jokes, but I'm hoping you'll enjoy it all the same.**

**Regarding plot: The plot will steer clear of most existing quest lines, as I prefer to craft my own story while stealing the settings and many other ideas from this wonderfully imaginative game. This story is _sort of_ a continuation of my short Final Fantasy XI story, "Excellent," hence the occasional references to that game. Reading that story is not necessary in order to follow this one, though.**

**Feedback of any sort shall be relished! Enjoy!**

* * *

Late in the evening of the 16th of Last Seed, 4E 201, on the road heading northwest toward Rorikstead, a somewhat short and stocky man clad in heavy steel armor save for a helmet rode a somewhat short and stocky horse clad in dark brown hair save for a large white spot on its forehead. The man, too, had dark brown hair, cut rather short and positioned atop a Breton head of pale complexion and blue eyes. His name was Mathúin, though he often went by Matt for short. As his horse clopped along slowly, Matt surveyed the rolling countryside without much interest.

Why the northern folk found this frigid wasteland worth dying for was beyond him. Granted, he could appreciate the fierce drive to defend their people and history, especially when it was from self-righteous bloodthirsty fanatics such as the Thalmor. But why their ancestors chose here of all places was a mystery to begin with. He saw little beauty in the surrounding land, with its rocky hills and plains dominated by a sickly greenish-brown blend of scraggy grass and barren soil, and with its occasional dead tree or patch of wiry shrubbery. Already he missed the temperate coastal forests of his home, the "Jewel of the West": Camlorn. Skyrim would take some adjusting.

Matt stopped his pondering when he noticed a figure coming into sight around a large boulder. The figure was a Nord man, somewhat tall and scrawny when compared to Matt, and he was hunched over a bush of purple mountain flowers, eating them and muttering to himself.

Matt stopped to observe in amusement. The man was dressed in an unusual mixture of armor and weapons: he wore fur boots and bracers, leather cuirass and cuisses, and a bulbous glass helmet. He carried a walking stick, and several knives could be seen sheathed at his sides. All in all, he looked rather peculiar, especially for a Nord. Matt moved his horse closer and began to make out what the man was saying.

"Fortify health?" Deep in concentration, the stranger chewed and swallowed another flower. "No no, restore stamina!" Still hunched over, he moved toward another nearby bush, but halfway there he stopped suddenly, as if just noticing something. "Ah! And fortify sneak! Grand!"

"Hail, fellow traveler!" called Matt after deeming the man nonthreatening, but the Nord did not react and proceeded to gnaw on a blue mountain flower. After a moment, his face lit up.

"Restore health! Excellent! Better grab some of these…" Unsheathing a knife, he cut a bunch of flowers from the bush, twisted one around to hold the bunch together, and then stuffed them into a satchel at his belt.

Matt decided to try again. "Hail, I say! A fine day for alchemy!" But still there was no response. As the Nord crossed the road in front of Matt, heading toward a bush of red mountain flowers, Matt dismounted and followed. As he hunched down to grab another flower, Matt reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.

The strange man immediately whipped around to stare at Matt, wide-eyed. "Yes?" he asked, in a tone of nervous excitement. Beneath his glass helmet could be seen long blond hair and a small blond beard and blue eyes.

Matt hesitated, taken aback by the sudden reaction. The Nord shrugged, turned to face Matt, and offered his hand for a shake. "I am Sean!" he said, in the same nervously excited tone, and gave an eager smile. "Good evening to you!"

Matt shook his head and gave a wry smile as he took Sean's hand. "Honored to meet you, Sean. I am Mathúin, knight-errant of Camlorn, but you may call me Matt."

"It is a pleasure, Matt! A knight-errant, you say? I am a bit errant myself…" Sean looked around and spread his arms to indicate their surroundings, then added, "…as I am sure you have surmised!"

Matt cocked his head. "Indeed I have. Pray tell, what brings a Nord out wandering the treacherous plains of the Reach, armed with naught but a walking stick and some knives?"

"Well, I…" Sean scratched his neck uncomfortably. He seemed to struggle with his thoughts for a while, occasionally opening his mouth to speak but then closing it again without a word. "It's not _just_ a walking stick, you know," he finally said, shaking himself from his vacillation. He swung the stick deftly through some combat motions, using a nearby rock as a target.

Matt decided not to pry, despite his curiosity. He smiled. "A quarterstaff, eh? Impressive! I'm a bit of a weapons enthusiast myself."

"Truly?" asked Sean, his brow creasing into a skeptic's look. "I see not a one on you!"

"Ah, but does the fact that I do not currently carry one preclude my appreciation for a good war axe? Or a longsword, perhaps?"

Sean blinked. "Well, of course not. But now I cannot help but to reflect your former concern for _my_ safety when you thought _me _little-armed!"

Matt chuckled. "Suffice it to say that your concern is unfounded, friend," he declared mysteriously, setting Sean struggling to imagine a heavily armored knight fighting off a hoard of battleaxe-wielding bandits with only his hands. Matt looked to the sky. "Dusk approaches; shall we head to the nearest inn for ale and rest?"

"Ah yes, certainly!" Sean shook himself from his reverie and pointed northwest up the road. "To Rorikstead!" he exclaimed cheerfully.

"AWAY!" Matt bellowed, drawing a laugh from Sean as Matt mounted his horse and headed off.

Sean lingered for a moment, munching thoughtfully on a red mountain flower. Suddenly he grinned. "But of course: restore magicka!" He snipped a handful for his satchel and scurried after Matt.

* * *

"…but if you grasp it instead right here, like this, you'll still have leverage for a decent swing, _and _if you follow through correctly, the staff will bounce back nearly to its initial position." Strolling beside Matt's horse, Sean demonstrated with a slow-motion reenactment on the saddle then spun into a follow-up defensive maneuver.

"Ah! Much safer, I see," observed Matt with a nod. He was picking Sean's brain on the art of stick fighting with keen interest. The two neared Rorikstead as day neared night, the last rays of the sun illuminating the sparse clouds in pinkish orange as the blue-black of the night sky crept in above them. Dark farm houses and dimly-torch-lit streets eased into view about a half mile up the road. Matt continued his questioning: "So what, then, if the enemy—haaang on…"

Matt squinted ahead, studying the approaching town. The small farming settlement slept early, which justified the stillness of the streets and the darkened windows of most of the buildings, but it did not explain the sounds that had just reached the travelers' ears: sounds that could only be made by a large group of fomented people.

The two travelers exchanged concerned glances and quickened their pace. As the town came into better view, the noisy scene unfolded before them: just off the road, before the inn, a torch-wielding crowd of a few dozen townspeople stood, many of them shouting and gesturing angrily. Between the crowd and the inn, atop a wooden platform raised about six feet off the ground for all around to see, stood a pompous-looking Nord civilian and two guards. The pompous-looking man was waving his arms, stomping up and down the platform, and shouting heated words, doing his best to incite the people. The guards stood on either side of him, arms crossed, watching over everyone. Also standing on the platform was a tall T-shaped post with a length of rope hung on each of its ends. The ropes were tied in a certain type of knot that left the purpose of the platform unmistakable: it was a gallows.

Sean and Matt shuddered. Such devices were rarely seen these days, with current authorities preferring axe men and chopping blocks. But these people were clearly not acting under the jurisdiction of current authorities. The content of the pompous-looking man's tirade revealed as much.

"Their halfhearted denial only proves our case!" he was shouting. "Surely you know, folks, that only the cold-blooded Thalmor could respond to our accusations with such impudence!" He gestured angrily off to the side, where stood two high elves, bound at their hands and feet, looking rather annoyed. One was massively tall, the other slightly shorter, and both were thin but well-muscled. They certainly looked as though they could be scouts for the Thalmor, though only the taller one wore elven armor, the shorter clad in leather huntsman's garb. "Thalmor spies, in our beloved Skyrim," the pompous man continued. "And we cannot trust our puppet emperor to deal with them," he spat, "no; we must punish them ourselves! Let Rorikstead be the first to take action against our nation's enemies! Let Rorikstead show the rest of Skyrim the meaning of glory and honor!" He paused his stomping back and forth to face the crowd, his eyes aflame, his hand raised in a fist. "_Let __Rorikstead__ execute the__se Thalmor scum__!_" he roared, and the crowd erupted in cheers and jeers of agreement.

"Nooo, dooon't," called the taller elf feebly, sarcastically.

"You're being ignoraaant," added the shorter in the same listless cry.

* * *

Sean and Matt now stood on the road behind the crowd, watching uneasily. "'Glory and honor'?" asked Sean, repeating the pompous man's phrasing. He eyed the platform. "Those are not among the words that come to mind when I look upon that wretched thing."

Matt shook his head. "Something feels off about this. I cannot shake the feeling that they do not bother to defend themselves only because it would do them no good. They may be innocent yet."

"I agree," replied Sean, craning his neck to look at the elves. "Let us find a better viewpoint, shall we?" Matt nodded and dismounted and they pushed through the crowd a ways.

* * *

"You see, folks?!" shouted the pompous-looking man triumphantly. "Our enemies practically beg for the noose!" The crowd roared its agreement again.

"We're not your enemies, you fat fuck!" shouted the shorter elf. "We're fleeing from the Thalmor ourselves!"

"Seriously! I mean come on, why do you think we were alone and defenseless," the taller demanded, glaring around at the crowd, "knowing the dangers of Skyrim, and knowing how much you just freaking looove high elves around here?"

"Your incompetence as spies does not affect your guiltiness, _elves_!" The pompous man snarled the last word as if it were an insult. "You've been caught, and now you shall face the consequences!" The elves rolled their eyes.

* * *

"They certainly sound unlike any Thalmor that I have heard," Sean remarked. "Or anyone that I have heard, for that matter."

Matt grunted. "This is clearly a case of narrow-minded, thick-headed, altogether unwarranted hatred," he declared, gradually clenching his teeth and raising his voice as he spoke.

"Clearly," Sean agreed grimly, looking around to see who might be paying attention to the newcomers. Nobody, it seemed. "So what do you think," he asked Matt quietly, and his eyes were suddenly bright with a focus that apparently eluded him in calmer situations; "are we going to stand for this?"

Matt glared toward the platform. "No way in Hell—I mean, uh, Oblivion."

* * *

"My fellow people of Rorikstead!" shouted the pompous man. "Observe as we make history for Skyrim, and contribute mightily to the cause of our great people, who refuse to be trolled by Thalmor spies!"

The taller elf barked a laugh. "'Trolled!'" He turned to his companion and his voice lifted an octave: "He thinks we're trolling him!"

"If we were trolling him," the shorter replied, loudly, "he'd be disappointed in his mother!"

"His mother? Why?"

"Because he'd hear all about our escapades last night in the Winking Skeever!"

"…really? A your mom joke?" asked the taller, bluntly. He shook his head, his eyes closed and his mouth a grim line of disappointment. Then he stopped to look at his companion, who was scowling at him now. Then he resumed his disappointed head shaking.

"That's all I got now; shut up!" the shorter elf snapped, looking away.

* * *

"'Trolling?'" asked Sean, perplexed.

"Time runs short," warned Matt.

Sean shook himself. "Right! So do you think you can deal with the men on the platform?" He looked doubtfully at Matt and his lack of weaponry, but the determined sneer on Matt's face startled him.

"Not a problem." Matt turned to Sean. "Can you distract the rest?"

Sean looked around again. "Mm… Probs."

"Uh, what? Problems?"

"Probably!"

"Oh. Well then, let us boot this boar!" Matt exclaimed, punching one hand into his open other. He set off pushing briskly toward the platform while Sean headed back to the road behind the crowd.

* * *

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" announced Sean when he arrived a good distance away from the mob, his voice magically booming, amplified by a spell. He was doing his best to sound manly and commanding, but he clearly didn't know how, and this produced rather comical results. Still, the crowd turned and gave him their attention. The place fell silent except for the hissing of torches and the chirping of insects. "UM… OH YES! ENGORGE YOUR EYES ON THIS SPECTACULAR SPECTACLE THAT I AM ABOUT TO PRODUCE!" Deep in concentration, he began moving his arms slowly in intricate winding paths around himself. A faint orange glow appeared in his open hands as they moved, growing stronger over time. Then, bending at the waist, he planted his right hand on the ground while his left stayed out behind him. He closed his eyes and stopped moving. The crowd stirred uneasily. "STUFF YOUR EYES…"

* * *

At this point Matt had just reached the platform. Trusting Sean to keep the crowd busy, he leaped up to the edge without hesitation, then hoisted himself up and squared off his stance. "Hey boys!" he called rakishly, leering a challenge to the three men standing around him as they scrambled to draw their weapons. The closest guard, standing to Matt's immediate right and wielding an iron battleaxe, swiftly stepped in for a quick chop—or he tried to, rather, because no sooner had he moved an inch than "_HIYAAAAAHHH!_" Matt let out a shriek as he kicked the guard in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards and off the platform.

At that, the second guard dropped his iron war axe, hopped down from the platform, and took off running. Matt watched him for a moment, grinning, while the pompous announcer, standing directly opposite Matt, snarled and closed in for a strike. "An iron mace, eh?" observed Matt, eyeing the man's weapon. The man aimed for Matt's chest with a powerful overhead swing, thinking to break through the unarmed knight's defense with brute force. A loud _clang_ jolted the pompous man up the arm as he connected with Matt's iron mace, which Matt held braced with both arms to block the blow. Through gritted teeth, Matt complimented him: "Good choice!"

"What…" The pompous man spent a moment baffled as to where Matt could have possibly gotten the mace before his hesitation bought him a flight from the platform via Matt's sweeping underhand bash to the ribs.

* * *

Sean drew his right arm straight up and flung his hand open toward the sky. Twin flames appeared at the ground and spiraled up around the path his hand had taken and continued beyond. The spiral grew as the flames climbed into the sky, and so did the flames, and the audience members' faces followed the spectacle as one, looking simultaneously terrified and fascinated. Suddenly Sean clapped his hands, and the flames burst into a shower of orange sparks that rained down toward the crowd. The people voiced their trepidation through shouts and squeals and began stumbling over each other to get out of the way.

"FEAR NOT!" came Sean's silly booming voice. "THEY ARE HARMLESS!" The audience paused, still uneasy, but sure enough, the few sparks that didn't fizzle out before landing on people caused no sensation whatsoever.

Sean began waving his glowing hands in a new motion, this time bringing both hands to the ground before springing up and spreading all four limbs wide. Out of Sean's chest came a grinning saber cat's head, translucent green with bright blue flames for eyes, and it grew quickly to gigantic proportions before opening its maw with a roar and chomping down on the audience as a whole. As its teeth came together, the head exploded into hundreds of little green butterflies, which flitted around the audience for a few moments before disappearing with _snaps_, _crackles_, and _pops_. The audience roared and applauded with delight, then shouted for more.

* * *

Matt laughed as the pompous man got up with a grunt and fled. Had the man looked more closely—had he had the chance, that is—he likely would have understood how Matt got his mace, for it gave off an ethereal bluish glow and trailed violet swirling flames. Matt released the conjured weapon, which vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and noticed the first-fallen guard fleeing after his companions. With another chuckle, Matt turned to regard the elves, who were still bound and standing by the platform.

"A little help?" asked the shorter one, holding out his bound hands with a sassy expectant look.

"Come on already!" agreed the taller.

Matt, looking bemused at their lack of respect for the one who just fought to save them, nonetheless obliged the elves, summoning a dagger and cutting the ropes around their hands and feet.

"Now, we should get out of here," declared the taller elf, as both stretched their limbs.

"Uh… You're welcome." Matt muttered, feeling unappreciated.

"Fuck that," retorted the taller elf flatly. "Grab your wizard friend and let's go!"

"Huh? My wiz—ohhh my goodness!" gaped Matt, as he finally turned to regard the scene Sean was producing. Magical fireworks and phantoms flew all over the place, directed by Sean's frantic waving and dancing. The crowd was enthralled, cheering and applauding at every pop and crack and scream. Sean, too, was clearly having a blast, and Matt tried several times in vain to get his attention by shouting, which brought back a familiar feeling associated with the peculiar Nord. Finally Matt simply ran out, grabbed Sean by the arm, and yanked him back toward the elves.

"Awwwww!" came the disappointed cries from the audience as the magic show ended, but those cries were quickly replaced with angry shouts when they noticed that the men on the platform were gone and the elves cut free.

"Uh oh…" Sean remarked in foreboding.

The taller elf, who had climbed onto the platform to take the axe dropped by one of the guards, quickly scanned the surrounding land for the best escape route. "Flee west! Into the hills!" he yelled to his companions, before leaping down and setting off. The others followed suit, and a hoard of angry townspeople came close behind.


	2. Bleakwind Bluff

The elves skipped gracefully along through the rocky hills west of Rorikstead at an impressive pace, even the taller one, clad in his elven armor. Matt came next at a lesser but also impressive pace for one wearing heavy steel plate mail. He had left his beloved horse in Rorikstead, unable to retrieve him during the commotion, but he held faith that the innocent steed would be okay. Bringing up the rear was Sean, who clearly struggled to keep up, panting hard. "Sorry guys… went a little… overboard… on the magic," he wheezed, clutching at a cramp in his side. The others glanced back, looking concerned, since, while Matt kept a steady distance from the pursuers and the elves flew ahead, the fastest of the angry townspeople were gaining on Sean.

One man, wielding a pitchfork, came within a foot of Sean's heels with a reaching sweep. Before the man finished his swing, Matt was in front of him, running backwards, giving the man a disapproving frown and wagging a finger with one hand as he summoned a greatsword into the other. The whole crowd slowed a bit, looking uneasy, and Matt waved the greatsword back and forth, making a show of the swirling violet flames that trailed it. These people, mostly Nords, were not comfortable with magic, and Matt knew it. Sean knew it, too—all too well—and silently congratulated Matt for his quick thinking, then pulled a flask from his hip and gulped down its contents as he ran, grimacing at the foul taste. After a moment, Sean moved with renewed vigor and began gaining distance from the crowd.

Sean shouted back to Matt, "Thank you, sir! I should be good!" So Matt gave one more dramatic swing for good measure and tossed the greatsword into the crowd. The people shrieked and stumbled in attempt to dodge, but the conjured weapon faded from existence immediately after leaving Matt's grip and would not harm anybody. By the time the crowd realized this, though, Matt had turned with a laugh and regained his distance. The elves, who had been watching over their shoulders, looked at each other with relief and pressed on.

As the companions progressed through the rolling landscape, a particularly tall rocky bluff came into view over the horizon, atop which could be seen a small stone building. The elves led the way toward it, thinking it their best bet for a desperate defense against the belligerent townsfolk.

* * *

Reaching the base of the bluff, the companions quickly scaled a low ledge and found themselves at the foot of a path that wound along the bluff's perimeter in a wide spiral toward the top. The elves arrived first, and the taller, looking back, exclaimed, "Hey, they're leaving!"

"Excellent! They gave up!" shouted Sean cheerfully. He made a rude face toward their former pursuers, who now walked back toward Rorikstead, mumbling to each other.

Matt sensed something more to the townspeople's sudden desistance. "Hmm," he said.

Sean turned to look at the path before them and found himself face to face with a skeever's severed head on a bloody stick. He recoiled in alarm, and then an arrow whizzed past, slicing through the space where Sean had just been standing.

"By the—" gasped Sean, clambering for cover behind a nearby rock formation. His companions did the same, with Matt settling across the path from Sean and the elves a bit farther back. They peeked out to see a Breton man dressed in a rather sparse assortment of furs standing a ways up the path and aiming a crude bow their way. He readied another arrow, his face an angry scowl under an unsettling hood fashioned from a deer's skull and antlers.

The man fired again, so the companions ducked behind their rocks. The missile clattered off the rock Sean hid behind and landed by Matt's feet. Matt grabbed it, summoned a bow, and took aim, poking the bow barely out from his cover.

"Whoa, good idea!" exclaimed the shorter elf.

"Unfortunately, archery is not among my repertoire," replied Matt grimly. "But I figure it might be worth a shot!"

"What you did there…" muttered the taller elf; he gave a dramatic pause, and then finished: "was fucking stupid."

Matt let fly the arrow: it was not a terrible shot, but the fur-clad man briskly sidestepped the missile and fired his own at Matt, who ducked again. The arrow landed by the shorter elf this time, and he picked it up and gave Matt an anxious look. "May I give it a try?" he asked.

Matt shook his head. "Alas, my magic will not work that way. Once this bow leaves my hand, it will vanish," he explained.

"Oh…"

Sean looked back from pondering the fur-clad man. "Could we not reason with him? Perhaps if he knew we meant him no harm…"

Matt was shaking his head again. "In my experience, there is simply no reasoning with the Forsworn."

"The Forsworn?" asked Sean with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye, Bretons who practice black magic and wish to reclaim the territory they supposedly lost to the Nords," explained Matt. "Fanatics."

"FIRST YOU, THEN _ALL_ OF THE REACH!" declared the man as if on cue, his eyes wild. He fired another arrow, which sunk into the ground near Matt's feet.

"They're bat-shit crazy," summarized the taller elf, gesturing to the skeever's head on a stick.

"Ah… yes…" said Sean.

"After all, this one is trying to kill you, no questions asked," Matt pointed out, eyeing the arrow at his feet.

Sean frowned. "Good point! Right, then!" Leaving his walking stick, he stepped onto the path to face the Forsworn archer, his left hand raised before him with fingers spread as if holding an apple, and his right hand held likewise but behind his head as if ready to throw an apple. The Forsworn predictably shot an arrow at Sean, whose left hand suddenly spouted a bluish-white magical barrier in the shape of a shield as his right hand began glowing violet and crackling with electricity. The arrow hit the barrier, stopped dead without a sound, and dropped to the ground as Sean's right hand shot forward and with a _crack_ sent forth a bolt of lightning that connected with the Forsworn's chest. It was a weak bolt, and Sean sagged against his rock with the effort, but it was enough to stun the man momentarily. "Shoot him now, Matt!" cried Sean. Matt already had the latest arrow nocked. He drew, aimed, released, and hit home with a sickly _thunk_.

"Wow, right in the heart," observed the shorter elf as the Forsworn fell to the ground, tumbling down toward the companions. "Nice shot!"

"Thank you," replied Matt, a bit surprised himself. He turned to Sean. "Nice bolt!"

Sean grinned. "Nice teamwork!"

"Hey lovebirds, watch out," warned the taller elf, nodding toward the top of the path, whence came three more sparsely-fur-clad Forsworn to investigate the commotion.

"Oh, of course," said the shorter elf, and with that, the companions snapped back into action. Sean pulled out another potion from his belt and gulped it down with a grimace. Meanwhile, Matt swapped his bow for a shield and longsword, the taller elf stepped up past Sean and hefted his axe, and the shorter elf sprinted the short distance to the fallen Forsworn, grabbed the crude bow, and yanked an arrow from the quiver. A split second later, the arrow shot through the air and right into the throat of the farthest Forsworn, who was also an archer. Matt's and the taller elf's mouths dropped open in amazement and then closed in snarls as they met the charge of the remaining two Forsworn, one of whom wielded a crude axe and the other a crude sword.

Matt hit the axe-wielder shield-first, swinging his shield arm out to bash the man in the face before he could strike. Dazed just long enough, the man took Matt's sword thrust to the bare chest and fell without much of a fight. Meanwhile, the taller elf let his foe strike first, feigning clumsiness with a fake stumble and then quickly bringing his axe up in both hands to bash the crude sword away and in the same motion swipe back to embed the axe halfway through the Forsworn's neck. As the Forsworn fell back, dying, the elf braced his foot on the man and wrenched the axe free with a spurt of blood.

"Eugh!" groaned Sean, who had just caught up to witness the last bit of carnage, pale-faced. The taller elf eyed him quizzically.

"What a weird Nord," offered the shorter elf, who also just arrived, after equipping the first fallen archer's quiver and bow.

"Yeah," agreed the taller elf, still staring at Sean, who gave a nervous laugh. The taller elf grinned. "Look at his bulby helmet! Doesn't it make his head look like the tip of a—"

"_HAGRAVEN!_" shouted Matt from higher up the path, ducking a fireball that flew out into the twilit sky as he scrambled back down to his companions. The fireball, which came from around the bend to the top of the hill, was followed by the angry hissing of the creature and the soft roar of more fire spells being prepared. Matt situated himself at the front of the group, holding his shield ready. The taller elf stepped up beside him, and the other two brought up the rear. The group formulated a quick battle plan:

"How shall we do this?"

"I don't know! That fire is fucking nasty."

"Yeah, and she'll burn these shoddy arrows right up. Let's just charge in and try to overwhelm her; how's that?"

"Sounds good! On the count of three, then!" Just then, a raspy wheezing reached their ears, and the hagraven appeared from around the bend: a wretched humanoid blend of witch and bird, shuffling toward them, clawed hands aflame with powerful magic. "_AAH! Three!_"

* * *

"Is this thing fucking serious?" asked the taller elf. He and Matt stood next to the hagraven, occasionally shuffling aside as she threw a ponderous swipe toward one of them. The bird-woman had stopped using magic altogether once they had gotten within slashing range, and though her hands bore deadly-looking claws, seconds went by between her pathetically slow and deliberate attacks. (Fun fact: hagravens actually act like this in the game. I couldn't resist replicating it!)

The group laughed. "She must not be right in the head," offered Matt. He couldn't resist adding, with a stifled giggle, "Bird brain." Sean glared daggers at Matt; then he caved and burst out laughing.

"It's almost sad to kill her, now," added the shorter elf.

The others hesitated at this. Then Sean pointed out, "But she _is_ still an evil witch who would gladly harvest our eyeballs for her dark rituals."

"Truth," declared the taller elf. He began hacking with his axe between dodges, and Matt discarded his sword and shield to join in with a conjured axe, shooting the elf a grin. The hagraven gave a chilling shriek each time she was hit, but never once changed her battle strategy before finally falling dead.

* * *

The companions sat down around a fire at the top of the hill, just outside the stone building they saw earlier, which was now freshly looted for supplies. A huge red moon filled much of the night sky, the rest of which twinkled with innumerable stars. A chilly breeze kept the companions awake and alert, and the chirping of nearby insects could be heard over the crackling of the fire.

The shorter elf was arranging the feathers on the Forsworn-made arrows he had retrieved, looking annoyed by the poor craftsmanship, while Sean sampled the bizarre ingredients he had found in the hagraven's lair, making various faces and muttering to himself. The taller elf had grabbed a bow and arrows from the other fallen Forsworn archer and now used one of Sean's knives to sharpen the wooden prongs on their tips. Nobody wanted to use the other makeshift weapons they had found on the Forsworn, for, as the taller elf announced, "That shit's fucking trash." Instead, those weapons helped to fuel the fire.

Matt, meanwhile, was gazing at the fire, looking ecstatic. "Now _that_ was an adventure!" he suddenly cried out. "_This_ is why I came to Skyrim!"

The shorter elf looked at Matt and gave a wry smile. "You mean it wasn't for its great hospitality and unsurpassed beauty?"

Matt gave an amused snort. "Hardly! I came to make a name for myself as a Knight of Camlorn, and I intend to do so by changing the world for the better, in whatever way I can. Seeing as my skills and interests lean toward fighting and killing, Skyrim seemed an ideal place for that sort of thing."

Suddenly Sean vanished, causing the others to do a collective double take. "Did he just—" Matt started to ask, but then Sean reappeared in the same place, examining his hand in wonder. He looked up at his companions with a wide-eyed grin. "Invisibility!"

"What gave you _that_?" asked the taller elf.

"This gray powder here. I am unsure what it is, but it tastes like… death. Not like bonemeal death, which tastes like rot, but… something darker. Does that make sense?"

"Nope!"

"Is it vampire dust?" asked Matt.

Sean clapped his hands. "Of _course_!" he exclaimed. "Thank you, Matt! Now I just need another appropriate ingredient and I can create an invisibility potion."

"That's pretty cool," said the shorter elf.

"I can't believe you eat that shit," muttered the taller elf. Sean didn't seem to hear.

After a moment, Matt continued speaking. "As I was saying, it is rough out here. Skyrim is a cold, cold place. If I can—_ah!_" He was interrupted when Sean flung a giant's toe at him for his pun, not caring whether he intended it or not. After a laugh that suggested the former, Matt concluded: "If I can, I will _make_ it more hospitable and beautiful!"

"A noble cause," observed the shorter elf after a time.

Sean nodded in agreement. "She certainly could use some cleansing, this land." He held up one of the hagraven's feathers to strengthen his point. The feather had a bite taken out of it. "Damage magicka, by the way," he added, looking at the feather with distaste.

Matt straightened. "Gentlemen, I would say we performed fantastically as a team today. What do you say…" he paused to gaze intently at his companions. "What do you say we keep this up? What do you say we work together to cleanse Skyrim?"

He spent a few long moments waiting as his new-found friends thought it over.

"Well, I do have some important magely duties to attend to…" began Sean.

"Ah… Well, never you mind then, for I would not have you eschew your duties," Matt assured him.

Sean giggled. "I was just kidding. As I mentioned earlier, I am rather errant at the moment. And truth be told, I have been so for most of my life. But making Skyrim a nicer place? That is a cause I think I can believe in. Count me in!"

"Grand!" exclaimed Matt with a laugh, and Sean grinned. Matt turned to the others. "What say you, elves?"

"Sounds like a rough life on the road," mused the shorter elf, "full of violence and hardships that test us to our limits and beyond."

"Aye, it may not exactly be pleasant," warned Matt. "I would not pressure you into enduring such dangers and discomforts."

"Pfft! It sounds fucking awesome!" the shorter elf exclaimed.

"It sure beats getting strung up by the racists who live here," noted the taller elf, inclining his head toward Rorikstead.

"Fair enough!" Matt laughed. "Well, excellent! It is an honor to have you, uh…" Matt paused.

Sean finished for him: "Who _are_ you folks, anyway?"

The elves looked at each other and laughed. "Well, we're high elves, from Summerset," explained the taller, "and we seem to have upset the world somehow. My name's Aindriú, but you can call me Andy."

"And I'm Michael," said the shorter.

"Andy and Michael," repeated Sean. "A pleasure!"

"Gentlemen…" began Matt. He gazed around at his companions again with an excited grin. "I have the feeling that together we shall move mountains."

Sean laughed. "Agreed!"

The elves smiled too. "Fuckin' right," said Andy.

* * *

In a dimly-lit room far away from the companions, a shadowed figure looked up from a crystal ball at a second shadowed figure. Within the ball was a real-time projection of the companions, who were now cautiously picking at food they had found in the building.

The figure's tone was of smug satisfaction: "All proceeds well," he said. His voice sounded deep and conniving. He steepled his fingers and gave a sinister chuckle.

The second figure's tone was of annoyance: "Look," he said. "I know that we are conducting clandestine surveillance of unwitting targets, an act of questionable morality at best. I just wish you would stop being so bloody cliché about it."

* * *

"Well, I'm off to bed," announced Andy, picking up one of the bedrolls they had found nearby and heading into the building to sleep.

Matt mused, "The first test of trust in our little super-group—will some of us wake to find ourselves robbed clean and the guilty gone?"

Sean laughed. "Stay tuned to find out!" He followed Andy's lead, leaving Matt and Michael exchanging puzzled looks, wondering what on Earth—I mean, uh, Nirn—'stay tuned' meant.


	3. Helgen

Late the next morning—the morning of the 17th of Last Seed, 4E 201, that is—the companions began to wake. Sean exited the stone building where they had slept to find Matt standing by the edge of the hilltop, gazing out across the rocky countryside. The day was sunny but brisk as usual in Skyrim, the sky spattered with fluffy white clouds.

"What ho!" Sean greeted his new friend.

"Good morrow, noble squire!" replied Matt, turning toward Sean. "Pray tell: how fare thee on this day of providence?"

"Okay, seriously, guys," came Michael's reprimand as he emerged next from the building, "your language is getting _fucking_ out of hand!" Sean and Matt laughed.

"Apologies, good sir knight; I do get carried away now and then," admitted Matt.

"As do I, sirrah, as do I," said Sean.

Andy came out and stood by them, looking stern. "Kindly take your leave of such preposterous articulations henceforth, you churlish, unwashed miscreants," he demanded. His expression softened as he gestured to Michael and added, "For marry, they do vex so mine young brother."

For the next several minutes, the others, whose mouths had dropped open at 'preposterous articulations' and spread wider throughout Andy's speech (Andy, who had hardly said anything more sophisticated than 'fuck that' in all their time together), could only gape at the elf as he sat by the fire pit and gnawed on some leftover meat.

Finally Matt shook himself and turned to gaze across the countryside again. "Hey, guys, what do you make of this?" he asked, pointing to the southeast.

The others joined him and squinted into the distance.

"Looks like a plume of smoke," observed Andy. "Over a city… Which city might that be, penis-head?" he asked of Sean, the native of Skyrim.

"Um… One moment," said Sean, pulling a map from his belt. "Well, that is northwest, right?"

"Southeast," said Andy, looking concernedly at Sean. He pointed to the sun. "Duh…"

"Right, right!" Sean pondered his map for a moment. "Helgen, then."

"Smoke over Helgen," mused Matt. "This bodes ill... What do you think? Shall we investigate?"

After a moment's silence, Michael offered, "Nahhh, it's probably nothing."

"Yeah, I'll bet some dumbass blacksmith lit the market on fire or something," agreed Andy.

"It could be a clash in the civil war between my people and the Empire," reasoned Sean, "but I for one have little interest in those pointless squabbles." The others muttered in agreement. They sat around the fire pit for a breakfast of leftover venison.

"Wait a minute," said Sean suddenly, looking troubled. He turned to Andy, and his eyes narrowed. "What did you call me earlier?!"

"Huh? Oh…" Andy grinned. "Penis-head." He shrugged at Sean's scowl. "It's what you look like. Not my fault." Michael nodded in agreement, suppressing a snicker.

Sean's nostrils flared. "You—say that to my _face_!" he demanded.

"Uh, I just did, but okay." Andy leaned over so that he was face-to-face with Sean. "Dickhead."

Sean's eyes went wild and he threw himself at Andy, who rolled backwards, sprung to his feet, and led the Nord on a chase around the hilltop. After a few laps, Sean stopped as something dawned on him. "Ohhh, you mean because of this?" He took off his bulbous glass helmet and held it up. All three of his companions nodded, grinning. Sean looked crestfallen. "But… it is so protective!"

"If you're a mage, why don't you wear robes, anyway?" asked Michael. "You look freaking goofy in all that stuff."

"I have always needed to hide my real interests from my family," admitted Sean, "else they would have exiled me." His companions sobered up at this revelation, but only until Sean struck a proud pose and continued: "So I dressed like a warrior!"

Andy snorted. "More like a skooma addict," he corrected. The others giggled.

Sean stroked his chin in thought. "Those robes do seem rather comfortable…"

"Well then, it sounds like our next task has been presented to us!" declared Matt, standing up. "To find some quality gear! You elves could use some better arms, am I right?" They nodded with enthusiasm. "Hmm… But where around here might we find those?"

Several moments passed in silence, save for the occasional gust of wind or chatter of insects. Sean returned from his daydreaming to find six expectant eyes on him. "Oh, sorry!" he stammered. "I am in unfamiliar territory, as well. I know the major settlements, but we are rather far from any of those. I have little in the way of gold, anyway; what about you?"

The elves shook their heads. "Not much," admitted Matt.

Another silence ensued. A hawk shrieked in the distance.

"Maybe we could just… wander?" offered Michael. The others looked at each other and shrugged.

"It's a plan!"

* * *

"Shoot n' loot, shoot n' loot, shoot n' loot, _yeah_!" chanted Sean and Matt repeatedly, shouting the "_yeah_!" together and taking the rest in turns. They bounced cheerfully along through the rocky hills, heading east toward the road north of Rorikstead, while Andy scouted ahead and Michael trudged along behind them, rolling his eyes.

"_Shut the fuck up!_" Michael blurted out after a while. Sean and Matt laughed and obeyed, but only for a few seconds. Michael groaned. "Bard-tards…"

Suddenly Andy, who had recently disappeared around a hill, reappeared, running back toward his companions and looking frantic.

"What is it?" called Matt.

"_SKEEVERS EVERYWHERE!_" Andy screamed. The others glanced around, perplexed, then saw a mass of the vile rodents emerging behind Andy, bounding after him and squeaking madly. After a moment of surprise, the companions drew their weapons and ran to meet the charge.

Andy turned around and drew his axe as he reached his companions. The first of the skeevers leaped at him without hesitation, fangs bared, and Andy promptly chopped it away with his axe, taking care not to let the disease-ridden creature touch him. This extra attention, however, allowed the second to pounce before Andy was ready. It nearly reached him when an arrow whizzed by and embedded itself in the back of the skeever's mouth. The skeever still hit Andy, but it was dead, and Andy quickly brushed it away.

"Savedyourlife," Michael announced from behind him.

"Shut up!" returned Andy, chopping down another.

Meanwhile Sean and Matt used similar teamwork to keep the rodents at bay. They stood side by side with their quarterstaffs—Sean's a walking stick and Matt's summoned—and complimented each other profusely.

"Nice bash there, my good man!" exclaimed Matt. He bashed another skeever himself.

Sean responded as he jabbed another, "I do say, yours too! And a wonderful choice of weapon!"

"I thought so!"

"Indeed!" And so on.

Before long the skeevers were all dead and the companions unscathed.

"Well, we certainly know how to handle those," observed Matt, dismissing his staff. Sean shuffled excitedly among the creatures with a knife, shaving a bit of skin off the tip of each of their tails for his alchemy satchel, and Michael went around recollecting his arrows.

"That's pretty gross, man," declared Michael, watching Sean.

"Ahh, but such poisons to be made!" Sean replied excitedly.

Michael eyed one of his arrows thoughtfully. "Poisons, hmm?" He started helping Sean gather ingredients.

Matt asked of Andy, "So where did these vermin come from?"

"Well, that one says he came from my mom, though I'm not sure I believe him," Andy answered, pointing at Michael. "The other one I have no clue."

Matt put his face to his palm with a chuckle. "Not those vermin."

"They were in a house around that way," Andy explained with a smirk, wiping his weapons on the scraggly grass. "It smelled of death, so I went looking for loot, but I saw nothing good."

Matt grinned. "Just skeevers everywhere!"

Andy laughed. "Damn right."

"Let us loot on, then, while the weather is nice!" announced Sean. He pointed past the others to a massive formation of dark clouds, still distant but on its way to cover them.

"Indeed!" Matt agreed. He looked to Sean with a grin and they resumed their chant as they skipped off: "Shoot n' loot, shoot n' loot, shoot n' loot, _yeah_!"

"Arkay, save me," groaned Michael.

* * *

When they reached the road heading north out of Rorikstead, Matt stopped and gazed back toward the town whose residents had nearly killed them all the night before.

"You gents carry on ahead," he said. "I will catch up with you later." Then he jogged off toward Rorikstead, steel plate armor clanking.

The elves looked at Sean, perplexed. Sean shrugged. "Beats me! But I trust the man."

The elves agreed, so the remaining three headed north along the road, which soon declined sharply to reveal a huge valley below them. A large river cavorted loudly across the valley floor, kicking mist up to hit the rocky hills around it. The land was lusher here: tall evergreen trees replaced the gnarled dead ones and several varieties of hardy shrubbery sprouted from the rough soil. Beyond the river, the rocky hills rolled on, growing into snow-capped mountains far in the distance.

The road forked ahead of them: one route went west back into the hills while the other continued north to run with the river. The companions walked toward the fork, taking in the view as an elk leaped by with a sabre cat in hot pursuit. They didn't pay the animals much heed until the sabre cat turned and made a sudden lunge for Michael.

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted, twisting aside to barely dodge the huge beast, which skidded to a stop and turned around with a snarl to try again. In a split second Michael had his bow out and an arrow nocked, and he let loose as the beast pounced at him. Sean and Andy both chopped down on it as well, Sean with his walking stick and Andy with his axe, and the combined attack sent the cat sprawling at Michael's feet with an arrow through its eye and a gash in its back. The beast let out an awful wail and tried to get up, but before it could do so Andy reached down with his dagger and slit its throat, jumping back to avoid the blood. The companions gave a collective shudder as the beast died.

"That was scary!" observed Sean.

Andy turned to Michael. "Jesus what-now?"

"Er, I mean, Tiber Septim!" Michael sputtered.

"Okayyy… Anyway, we've_ gotta _get better gear."

"Agreed!" Michael braced his foot on the fallen sabre cat's eye and yanked his arrow out. He held it up to indicate the two-pronged wooden arrowhead. "Look at this piece of junk; a real arrow would have reached this thing's brain."

"That reminds me: you are getting too damn good at archery," announced Andy accusingly.

Michael grinned. "I've had time to practice since you left, bro!"

Andy snorted and led the way to the fork in the road. There stood a road sign indicating Markarth and Karthwasten to the west, Whiterun south, and Markarth north. Sean pulled out his map.

"Well, that seems false," he muttered, tracing the map with his finger. "This is north, right?" he asked, pointing north.

"Oh my goodness gracious, he got it right," said Andy sarcastically.

Sean beamed triumphantly. Then he held up the map. "See, that road leads to Morthal and Solitude, but not Markarth." (Seriously, this sign is wrong in the game. Super fun bonus activity: go see for yourself! )

"He's right," Michael affirmed. "But let's go to Morthal! I like the sound of that place."

Sean laughed. "I suppose we have no better reason to go anywhere else. We are true vagabonds now."

Andy shrugged. "Works for me."

"Also, we should probably notify Matt somehow, if he's going to find us," Michael pointed out.

"Good idea." Andy borrowed a knife from Sean and etched a message in the sign pointing north. When he finished, Michael read it with a nod.

"Classic."

Sean looked up from picking blue mountain flowers. "Classic," he agreed with a grin.

* * *

As they approached the river, they began glancing around cautiously, acutely aware that the incessant roar of the water made their ears less reliable. They came around a bend to find two giants and a mammoth standing directly in the center of the road.

"What the…" muttered Michael. The giants started stomping and shaking their clubs when they saw the companions.

"I'm not positive, but I think that means 'fuck off or we'll flatten you,'" offered Andy.

"Aye," agreed Sean, "What say we give them a nice wide berth…"

The trio sidled past at a generous distance and the giants stayed put, staring them down, while the mammoth picked at the scraggly grass. Sean and Michael shuddered, returning the giants' stares.

"Wait," said Andy, holding an arm out to stop his friends. "Look." He pointed along the road before them. Out of the mist came a small group of humans walking their way. They wore an odd assortment of armor and weapons much like Sean's, but much unlike Sean their faces seemed to feature permanent scowls.

"Bandits…" the trio breathed in unison.

"You picked a bad time to get lost, friends!" called the lead bandit, a man clad in heavy steel armor and wielding a glass warhammer. He and the other bandits drew their weapons and charged.

"Oh, marvelous," muttered Michael, drawing his bow.

"Hold up, I have an idea," said Andy, looking back at the giants, who were no longer paying attention to the road. "Get ready to run _past_ the bandits," he instructed, pulling out his bow and nocking an arrow.

Sean and Michael looked at each other and shrugged, then planted their feet for takeoff. Andy waited until the bandits were but a few strides away before he shouted "_Go!_" and then drew, fired, and took off after his friends. Andy's arrow soared through the air and embedded itself in the mammoth's rear end, causing the beast to trumpet in pain, causing the giants to seek out the perpetrator, instantly furious. They spotted the bandits just as they were pausing, confused, and the trio was disappearing into the mist beyond.

The giants groaned in fury and took off toward the bandits, shaking rocks off the nearby hills with their lumbering strides. The bandits stepped aside, figuring that the giants would realize who did it; after all, there were no archers among them. "Smash them up!" they cheered, pointing into the mist. But the giants did not swerve. They reached the bandits and raised their massive clubs, their expressions conveying indignation in its harshest of forms.

"Eww, I think it worked!" said Micheal, glancing back when the horrid crunching sounds reached their ears.

"Keep going!" Andy replied excitedly. "The giants may still come after us."

"Aha, but we shall see if they can!" declared Sean, throwing back his right hand, which glowed white-gray. The mist thickened tenfold behind them.

"Oh good work, son!"

The trio sprinted on as the road curved to the northeast. Eventually they reached a stone bridge that crossed a narrower section of the river, and there they stopped and leaned on the railing to catch their breath.

"I liked your plan, bro," Michael informed Andy between gasps, "but I have to admit it scared the piss out of me. It would take a hundred of these cruddy arrows to take down one of those behemoths, let alone two, and a mad mammoth? Thank you for the offer, sir, but I must insist you take your proposition elsewhere."

Andy simply grinned.

"I wonder what Matt's up to," said Sean after a time. The elves followed his gaze to the road behind them.

"Whatever he's doing, he's getting wet," observed Michael, eyeing the dark clouds that were quickly gaining on the trio. Scattered plumes of rain fell from the clouds, making them look a bit like an alien leviathan extending its tendrils to probe the surface of this strange planet.

"And what's this we have up here?" mused Andy. He was looking ahead, past the bridge, where the road cut through the left half of a rocky hill and a wooden bridge was suspended across. The top of a large wooden building could be seen over the hill to the right of the bridge.

"Pretty pointless bridge," remarked Michael. "Numbskulls."

"Yeah, I wonder…" Andy looked back at his companions. "Uh, where's Sean?"

"Down here!" came a cheery call from under the stone bridge. Andy and Michael leaned over the railing to see Sean crouching by the river and mashing up the leaves of a glowing green plant with a mortar and pestle. He grabbed a pink flask from his belt, dropped in some leaves and a pinch of vampire dust from his satchel, scooped up some water from the river, and shook the flask mightily. The mixture glowed brightly for a moment before dimming. He held it up with a grin. "Invisibility!"

"Awesome!" said Michael.

"We might need that soon," warned Andy.

* * *

The trio approached the wooden bridge cautiously. Several falling rock traps hung on the rock walls nearby, loaded with boulders. On each end of the bridge stood a man sporting an odd assortment of armor and weapons and a seemingly permanent scowl.

"Yup," muttered Andy, "saw that coming."

"All right, that's far enough," said the bandit on the left side of the bridge, who was clad in light armor and holding a wooden hunting bow. "You know how this works—toll here is 100 gold."

"And don't try to stiff us," added the second bandit gruffly. He wore heavy armor and carried a dwarven battleaxe. "Unless you want to end up like them." He nodded toward a heap of bloody and broken bodies on the side of the road. The trio gritted their teeth. The bodies looked like civilians.

"Yeah, I don't fucking think—"

"Wait!" Sean stepped forward and turned to face his companions. "These guys look really tough, so let us just pay the fine," implored Sean. He might have seemed sincere, but he winked at least a dozen times as he spoke.

"Umm… okay… if you're so sure," said Andy, with no need to feign his confusion. He looked at Michael, who shrugged.

"I am." Sean counted out the money into a pouch and tossed it up to the first bandit.

"Hmm… looks like it's all here. Okay, go on through. But stick to the road, and don't make any sudden moves."

"Yessir," said Sean. He led the way under the bridge until the bandits were out of sight, standing on either side above them. Then he handed Michael one of his knives and the flask of invisibility potion, pointed toward the bandit who had taken their money, and ran a finger suggestively along his throat. Michael nodded his understanding. Sean then turned to Andy and pointed toward the other bandit and then to the ground just below the nearest falling rock trap. Andy eyed the trap and nodded.

"Hey, what's taking so long?" called the first bandit. "What are you doing down there?"

"Sorry!" Sean answered quickly. "Just tying my boots!" He started concentrating deeply and conjured up an illusion that roughly resembled the three companions. He sent the images walking along the road and whispered to his companions, "_Do it!_"

While Sean maintained the illusion, Michael downed the potion and vanished. He began creeping up and around the half-hill half-tower on which the first bandit stood. Meanwhile Andy climbed carefully up the wall underneath the second bandit, grasped a beam underneath the bridge, and waited for his cue. Michael came up behind the first bandit, slipped a hand over his mouth, and slit his throat, reappearing as soon as he made contact. A muffled gurgle reached the others' ears. Sean shuddered, causing the illusion to waver.

"Hey—_aah!_" shouted the second bandit, cut off as Andy launched himself up, grabbed the bandit's ankle, and, using his own momentum and an impressive burst of strength, swung him down over the edge and onto the ground. A sickening _crack_ rang out against the rocks as the man landed with one arm twisted under his body. He cried out, clutching his arm, and Sean's illusion vanished as he jumped back, eager to get out of the way. Andy swung over and kicked down the door holding the boulders in place above the fallen bandit, who still writhed on the ground, wailing. The boulders fell, silencing him for good.

"Uhh, guys, lots more coming!" warned Michael from above. Sure enough, they heard the angry shouts of several more bandits approaching from the wooden building on the hill.

"They killed the chief!" one of them yelled.

"You picked a bad time to get lost, friends!" cried another.

"They're coming straight this way, toward the bridge," said Michael. He ducked an arrow and clambered back down to join his companions. "And they have archers."

"Well, this'll be fun!" declared Andy. He glanced back the way they had come. "Let's get back there," he decided, indicating the thin avenue between the river and the rocky hill that housed the bandits. The trio scrambled down the avenue and turned to face the road. The hill was large and steep enough so that the bandits would have to come straight at them from the road or risk letting them escape. Andy and Michael drew their bows while Sean prepared a spell.

"We'd better be quick, boys," Michael warned. "I saw at least five of them."

Just then the rapid clopping of a horse's hooves reached their ears, coming from the road they had taken and rising in volume.

"_YEEEEEEHAWWWWW, BITCHES!_" screamed Matt from atop his beloved horse as he galloped across the stone bridge. He summoned a wicked lance as he went and held it steady as he charged right by his friends and into the thrall of angry bandits. The trio couldn't see the action, but from what they heard, Matt had speared at least one of them.

Matt dismissed his lance—letting its three victims collapse on the ground—and summoned a glass mace as he deftly maneuvered with his horse, which skidded to a halt, turned around, and leaped back into the fray, allowing Matt to crack the skull of the closest bandit before she had a chance to react. The last remaining bandit, seeing no other option, fled where the trio had fled, around the hill by the river. Waiting for him were two arrows and a lightning bolt to the chest. He was wearing a fur cuirass. He didn't make it.

* * *

"I must say, I am enjoying these four," observed one of the shadowed associates in their shadowed room in the distance. His tone suggested a wry smile.

"Yes, yes, agreed," spouted another hurriedly. He was gazing intently into their crystal ball. "A serious challenge approaches fast, however," he warned.

"Well, it must be serious, to make you drop the evil mastermind act." He leaned in to see for himself and nearly fell from his seat. "Oh," he said. "Oh, this is not ideal."

* * *

"Nice freakin' horse!" Michael shouted to Matt as the trio joined him.

"Oh, riiiiight, the hooorse!" cried Sean, bopping himself on the head.

"Yeah, nice job, except we _had_ that and you took our fun!" announced Andy.

Matt laughed. "Well then, consider it revenge for that message on the sign," he countered.

Now the others laughed. "Classic, was it not?"

"I hardly think 'Matt's a filthy n'wah' constitutes 'classic,'" Matt grumbled, but he was still laughing.

Just then the dark clouds finally reached the companions and it began to rain. The group gazed uneasily into the distance behind, where lightning had begun flashing and sending faint rumbles their way.

"Should we wait out the storm in there?" asked Michael, pointing to the bandits' wooden fort.

Matt shook his head. "I do not much care to see what else or who else also seeks shelter there," he warned. "Then how about we loot the place quick and head to Morthal?"

"Works for me!"

* * *

With new tools in hand, the companions set off once more. Those new tools included a decent amount of gold, a steel war axe to complement Andy's iron one ("Boss boss boss."), decent hunting bows and iron arrows for Michael and Andy ("_Finally_, some arrows that fucking _work_!"), and a few health potions that Sean added to the collection at his belt ("Blech, it tastes like they used imp stool for these."). Andy also took the chief's dwarven battleaxe and strapped it to his back with an approving "Nice" from Matt.

The rainfall and wind had strengthened quickly as they looted, so the group moved now with increased haste. They followed the road around another rocky hill, and as they passed an outcropping they nearly ran into a peculiar figure standing in the center of the road. He looked like a Nord of average build, but he wore a full set of light elven armor, just like Andy. He held a polished elven bow with four arrows nocked and spread to point at each of the companions. Two dots of ice glared unblinkingly from beneath his helmet.

Just then the clouds covered the sun, darkening the land considerably.

"Four shots at once?!" breathed Michael in disbelief. The wind picked up even more.

"There you are, filthy Thalmor and filthy Thalmor-friends!" growled the stranger over the wind. "The name's Suleyk!" A bolt of lightning crashed frighteningly close. Suleyk drew his bowstring back. "I'm gonna gut you like horkers!"


	4. Suleyk

**Author's Note: And we're back in business! ****'Rewriting' was a generous term for those early chapters—it was more like re-editing—and surely they could use some more, but I've deemed it acceptable to continue. Hope you agree!**

**Thanks for reading!**

* * *

"Well, that's pleasant," muttered Michael. He and his companions stood dead still amid the thrashing storm, eyeing Suleyk's bow uneasily.

"We're not Thalmor, you idiot!" Andy declared loudly. "Who fucking _told_ you that?"

"I bet I could guess!" offered Sean.

"Indeed! Those townspeople hired you, did they not?" asked Matt.

Suleyk paused. "Oh, _really_, so you're not with the Thalmor? Then why—"

"Ya, _really_."

"—then why is that _high elf_ dressed like one?" Suleyk demanded, tilting his head toward Andy. Sean scratched his head at this. Suleyk tensed at the motion and Sean froze, wide-eyed, with his hand held up behind his head.

"I'm dressed like an Altmeri soldier," Andy corrected. "I trained to fight for my people, yes, but I took off when I realized how damned stupid those high-and-mighty Thalmor are."

"A likely story," said Suleyk dryly. "They told me I could expect—"

"Wait, why are _you_ dressed like a Thalmor?" asked Matt.

"Because this armor is a prize from my latest kill," Suleyk growled. Matt mouthed an 'oh…' and Suleyk went on: "Anyway, they told me I could expect you to be clever." Andy rolled his eyes while his companions narrowed theirs.

"The thing is," Suleyk went on, "I don't like my fat racist employers very much. _And_ I'm feeling adventurous. So I'm going to give you a chance to prove yourself."

"Oh, joy" drawled Andy.

"We're going to _find_ some Thalmor, and I'm going to watch you kill them."

* * *

In a distant shadowed room, two shadowed associates leaned back in relief.

"I admit, that was far easier than I expected," murmured the one.

"Aye," agreed the other, "he has never been so merciful. It is almost as if they have some prior connection, from another life."

"Anything is possible."

* * *

"And where in Oblivion are we going to find Thalmor?" demanded Andy, clearly annoyed. The companions were still frozen in front of Suleyk's bow, the heavy rain soaking ever deeper through their armor and skin. They flinched every time the lightning struck, sending its cackles their way.

"You're in luck—I passed a small group of them on my way here," Suleyk half-yelled as the latest explosion of thunder dropped into a long, low rumble. When the sound had faded, he spoke more calmly: "They should be along shortly."

"And what are they doing out here?" asked Matt, with a bit of an edge to his voice. Images flashed through his mind of a sad scene composed of a shrine to Talos, five dead Nords in dirty worshiper's garb, and a single dead high elf in Thalmor robes. He had stumbled upon this scene during his recent travels in Skyrim.

Suleyk spoke through gritted teeth and with terrible slowness: "They escort a Nord prisoner, whom they evidently caught worshiping Talos. Had I the time, I would have slaughtered them already. Now you get to do the honors. Let's go."

Rather than relax his bowstring, Suleyk pulled it back and released it in one fluid motion. All four companions shouted and moved to dodge or block the missiles, and Matt's horse even threw a shriek into the mix, but three of the four arrows remained in Suleyk's hand.

Sean flinched backwards with a yelp and whipped the hand he held behind his head forward, blocking the arrow just in time with a buckler-sized ward that sprung from his palm. He had been holding the spell ready for some time, just in case.

"Don't _test_ me," Suleyk hissed, teeth still clenched. He spun away and walked off then, but his icy glare lingered in Sean's mind as the young mage shuddered. His companions grumbled and fingered their weapons (or in Matt's case, the air), but reluctantly followed, out of unspoken consent that it was better not to trifle with this strange new character.

* * *

The snare drum roll of the rain and the timpani booms of thunder set a dire rhythm as Suleyk led the companions first off the road and then creeping along it, and sure enough, the group soon saw a line of figures emerging from the veils of fog that danced along with the howling vocals of the wind. The figures walked along the road in single file, with a high elf in black Thalmor robes in front followed by a Nord prisoner wearing sack-cloth clothes and leather bindings on his wrists who shuffled along miserably between two more high elves wearing elven body armor just like Andy's.

In a low voice that was barely audible through the storm, Andy said, "Give me the robed one; he's one of those 'Justiciars,' and I hate those fat-headed fucks."

"Well, go ahead, then," said Suleyk after a moment of silence wherein the companions eyed the Thalmor with stiff shoulders and grim expressions. When all four made to leave, he held up a hand. "Just the high elf first. I'll be watching."

Andy nodded and strode onto the road just before the procession, drawing an irritated grimace from the Justiciar. "You're interfering with official Thalmor business," the robed one scoffed, crossing his arms.

"Ohoho," laughed Andy as he came to a stop just before the Justiciar, "you have _no_ idea!"

The Justiciar squinted as he examined Andy's face. "Aindriú? Is that you?" Andy could practically feel Suleyk's breath catch and his grip tighten on his bow. He grinned as the Justiciar scowled. "Where on Nirn have you been? You have much to answer for, disappearing like that without leave." He delivered the last statement with ominous weight.

"I know," said Andy. He put on a somber yet hopeful air. "And I've come to surrender and to try to explain myself."

The Justiciar raised a slanted eyebrow. "Truly?"

"Truly." Andy held up his hands in front of him in a gesture of peace. "Here, take my axe." He continued to raise his arms as the Justiciar eyed him uncertainly. As Andy reached over his head, a devilish grin flashed onto his face.

Then Andy whipped his arms up down and his legs up, his body folding together like a spring-loaded trap, putting all of his strength and weight into his swinging battleaxe. The Justiciar got an arm up just in time to block the strike, but Andy's fury cut right through that arm and a considerable distance into the Thalmor's bewildered face.

Andy dropped his battleaxe and let his victim crumple to the ground as he drew his war axes from his hips. A moment of tense silence passed as he stared down the two armored Thalmor, who stood frozen, holding their prisoner. Then Andy's companions slowly emerged from the fog, weapons drawn, and took their places at his side. Matt had left his horse with Suleyk, who remained at a distance, a pleased half-smirk on his face.

Without breaking eye contact, Andy flipped his war axes and caught them. "Bring it, you pointy-eared troll turds."

At that, the remaining Thalmor snarled, shoved their prisoner away, and drew their weapons: one an elven mace, one a glass war axe. The prisoner quickly knelt down and, despite his bound wrists, grabbed a steel dagger from the fallen one's belt and scurried over to join the companions.

"You ought to flee, friend," Matt shouted to the prisoner while stepping forward and deflecting the incoming mace with a shield he conjured just in time. To his right, the other Thalmor closed with Sean and Andy while Michael stood back with his bow drawn, waiting for his opening. "We can handle this."

"No," grunted the prisoner. "These bloody Thalmor attacked me, humiliated me, and slew my beloved horse right before my eyes. I'd sooner—"

The prisoner was interrupted as his last statement elicited a passionate response from Matt, though it was delivered not with words but with gusto: with both hands on his shield, Matt blocked the mace so violently that it went twirling out of his opponent's hand, and before the Thalmor could react, a red-orange glow burst forth from Matt's hand and his shield ignited, mixing actual fire in with the ghostly flames that already swirled around it as Matt thrust it forward with terrific force, sending the Thalmor tumbling backward with a yelp as the flames singed his face. Matt immediately pounced on the fallen elf, pinning him down with his knees, his shield, and his free arm.

"In that case," said Matt to the Nord prisoner, finally adding words to his reply, "would you care to slit this one's throat?" The Thalmor underneath Matt cursed and struggled but could not break Matt's hold. The flames around Matt's shield flared up momentarily and the Thalmor yelped again as they licked his face.

The prisoner scowled, hefting his dagger, then took Matt up on his offer. When the gruesome deed was done, Matt stood and turned to see how the other fight proceeded.

The second Thalmor was lying still on the ground with an arrow through her eye, an axe chop halfway through her neck, and her hair standing on end, presumably from the shock of a lightning bolt. "She's quite dead," said Michael, noticing Matt's gaze.

"_INGENIUS!_" howled Sean, staring at Matt's shield with wonder. Kneeling in front of Matt, he poked a finger at it then withdrew with a laugh as he felt the heat. "I have never considered such a tactic." He scratched his chin, examining his wooden walking stick. "I wonder…"

Matt smiled. "It only seems to work with certain materials," he explained as he dismissed his mace and shield, took the knife from the prisoner, and cut the man's bindings. "I doubt that wood is one of them, but I have not tried it."

"And what in Oblivion is a conjured shield made of?" asked Michael, retrieving his arrow and wiping it off on the ground. Meanwhile Andy pulled the glass war axe out of the female Thalmor's grasp and held it with reverence, tracing the teardrop-shaped blade with his finger. Without taking his eyes off the glass axe, he took the iron one off his belt, hacked it into the fallen Thalmor's face, and filled its spot on his belt with the glass one. The Nord prisoner retrieved the elven mace from another fallen Thalmor and donned his armor as well.

"That depends," Matt answered, "on which one you summon. Believe it or not, these are real weapons that sit on some other plane of existence. I find them through magic, and then I can temporarily summon their essence." He summoned an iron longsword as he spoke and held the ghostly blade out for Michael to examine. "A morbid thought it is, but the Oblivion Crisis was in a way a blessing for conjurers like myself, what with all the unfortunate soldiers and adventurers who brought their armor and weapons through the gates only to perish at the hands of the daedra."

"And sometimes at the hands of the plants!" added Sean, and he made a whipping motion with his arm and a 'wha-_psh_' sound with his mouth.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

Sean grinned. Then he turned to Matt. "I always wondered why summoning weapons fell in the same magical category as summoning daedra," he said, scratching his beard. Then he grimaced. "But why on earth does it also include—" he stopped short as Suleyk approached the four again, the assassin's expression unreadable.

"Are you happy now, jackass?" asked Andy. For a while, Suleyk only glared at him as the rain and lightning continued their pounding, though the wind had begun to ease up. Andy returned his stare with indifference and the others watched on in uncertain silence.

Then, to their surprise, Suleyk smiled. "Aye," he declared, "a fine bout! I concede that you may not be Thalmor-friends after all." His smile vanished. "But still I cannot be certain. A Thalmor would gladly kill to save his own hide, after all." Andy groaned.

Then Suleyk threw his head back and laughed: a deep chortle, hearty with a hint of maniacal. "I jest!" he raved. "A Thalmor would kill, but he would not slay his own kind with such _zest_, such _tang_! 'Twas a delicious performance, yours, and I shall savor it for hours." He began to walk away to the north, straight off the road and toward the hills. He called over his shoulder, "You may roam free with my blessing!" and he held up a hand in farewell. "Goodbye, Thalmor-enemies. We shall meet again; of that I have no doubt!" Then he vanished into the mist.

The companions did a collective double-take and squinted after him, for when the mist shifted it revealed him still walking but far beyond the spot where he had disappeared.

They looked at each other and shrugged. "Dafuq," muttered Andy.

Then the companions turned back to face the Nord prisoner they rescued. For a moment they looked at each other in uncomfortable silence. Then Matt snapped his fingers.

"Here, friend; you say you lost your horse?" He walked back behind a nearby tree and brought out his beloved dark brown horse with the large white spot on his forehead. "Take mine." The prisoner's eyes widened, as did those of Matt's companions. "I know that nothing will quite restore what you lost, but you will not find a more loyal and clever steed in all of Skyrim." Matt stroked the horse's neck once, then handed the former prisoner the reins.

"How can—thank—may Talos lead you to honor and victory, friend," said the man, overcome. He clasped Matt's hand for a moment, then hefted himself into the saddle. "All of you, thank you." Then he saluted the companions and rode off.

"That was awfully nice of you," Michael said to Matt.

"Ah, I have no need of him now, and when I do, I can find another," Matt said with a dismissive gesture, though a quiver in his voice totally betrayed his feels. Erm... so to speak.

* * *

The rainfall lessened as the companions continued along the road to Morthal, and the lightning moved away over the hills to the north, as if it were following Suleyk. Also, the sky darkened further as evening approached, and the air grew colder as they moved farther east. Soon they were passing thin patches of snow on the ground and on the rocky hills and tall pine trees that were scattered around them. A small fox scampered across their path and disappeared into the nearby brush.

Before long an old, heavily-walled stone fort came into view, standing just off the road before them. They approached the front of it with caution, especially when they noticed the racks of tilted spikes laid out so as to herd any visitors down a narrow path to the gate, which stood wide open. On either side of the gateway was a formidable bastion—intimidating not for its height, as only its crenelations topped the gateway, but for its considerable girth. The keep rose from the center of the fort like a vertically-stretched replica of one of the bastions. The dark gray hue of the crumbling stone walls matched that of the clouds above, making for an altogether gloomy and foreboding scene.

As the companions' eyes slid along the battlements, a sharp shard of ice suddenly shot out toward them from somewhere above the gate. Three of the four companions dove out of the way, and the shard had hardly embedded itself harmlessly in the ground when a black-robed mage toppled from the wall with an arrow through his chest.

"You crazy bastard," said Andy to his brother, shaking his head. Michael only grinned.

"Necromancers," breathed Sean in disgust, eyeing the body.

"Aye," agreed Matt in kind.

"I'm not sure if we should allow them to continue their vile practices so close to town," Michael said suggestively, nocking another arrow. "What about you guys?"

"It would be in remiss of our moral duties to pass them by," agreed Matt, summoning a dwarven mace and giving it a twirl.

"I suppose one more round of slaughter today couldn't hurt," said Sean. The others looked at him funny, for it certainly could. "Oh, you know what I mean!"

So the companions drew their weapons, stretched their arms and necks, briefly discussed their battle plan, and charged through the gate.

* * *

"You know, they are near to a confederate of ours," observed shadowed associate #1. "Should we have our contact in Morthal approach them?"

"Aye, I believe we should," replied #2. "I will contact the boss."

* * *

"Don't you see?!" shouted a necromancer as he dashed along the wall above the companions, hands aglow with prepared spells. "I am master of the arcane!" A hooded black robe with a large skull dyed onto the front covered all but his face and hands, and a short black cape billowed behind one of his shoulders as he ran. The rain and the fog and the haunting glow on his face from his spells completed the scene, making him quite the sight, if a downright mad one.

Sean held up a finger to tell his companions to wait. His other hand was glowing off-white and raised above his head. He was crouching in a large gap where much of the wall had crumbled away and where the necromancer was fast approaching. The companions did as they were told, wondering at the look of glee in Sean's eyes and at the absence of a reaction from the necromancer, who stared straight ahead as if Sean wasn't there. They watched the black-robed man proceed straight past the end of the intact portion of the wall and fall right onto Sean, who caught him around the waist and tossed him to the ground below. The necromancer grunted as the ground knocked the wind out of him. As he lay there, stunned, Andy stepped forward and raised his glass axe, ready to lop the man's head off.

"Save the robe!" shouted Sean, and Andy stopped his swing just in time. He reversed his grip on the axe and held it blade down, then stabbed the point of the teardrop-shaped blade straight into the man's face.

"Thanks," Sean said as he clambered down to join them and began to disrobe the dead necromancer, trying not to look at his gory face. "'Master of the arcane' here failed to notice that part of the wall was fake," he explained. His companions grinned, now understanding what had happened. Sean tied the robe to his belt for safekeeping.

"Is that all of them?" asked Michael, looking around.

"I think so," said Matt as he conjured a ball of light that floated above his head, and Sean did the same, as it was now quite dark. Around them lay several other dead necromancers along with several piles of ash where zombies had been raised and re-killed. The only sounds were the light but steady pattering of the rain and the distant howl of a wolf. "Those inside likely all came out, but it couldn't hurt to check." The others looked at him funny. "Oh, you know what I mean!"

The companions did check inside, and they found themselves a few additional supplies, though most things they were loath to touch, as they lie in close proximity to some of the goriest, most disgusting scenes that anyone in the group had ever come across: the experiments of necromancers. They left as quickly as they could once they were sure the place was vacant and continued on their way toward Morthal.

Shortly ahead, the road curved north, and they saw further along it the silhouette of a lone figure standing in its center.

"Okay, seriously, _fuck_ the road," said Andy. "I have _had _it with these random encounters." With that, he led the way into the icy marshlands that surrounded Morthal, where shorter trees, twisted and barren, suddenly outnumbered the tall pines, and doleful blue flowers drooped from Deathbell plants all around. The eeriness of their surroundings was enhanced by the unnatural bluish white of Sean and Matt's magical lights, beyond which they could see nothing but blackness, and the companions couldn't help but feel a bit nervous as they began to glance around warily.

They had hardly gone twenty feet off the road when the howls of multiple wolves sounded all around. All four companions jumped and then Andy cursed. "Are you _serious_?!" he shouted into the night that surrounded them. The others grinned at that, grateful for the distraction that helped to keep their imaginations from running wild. They readied their weapons and stood with their backs to the center of the group; then they listened for the sounds of the wolves' approach.


End file.
